Authors: Cathy Maxwell
“What of
you,
Mr. Browne? Where did you come from?”
Again she had the feeling she’d asked a question he would rather not answer.
“I’ve come from here and there.”
“But what is your profession, sir?”
“I do a little of everything, Samantha. You need never worry. I will take good care of you.”
“I will not marry you. Nor do I want your pity.”
“There you are wrong. I don’t pity you, and you
will
marry me.”
She smiled at the autocratic tone in his voice. “Mr. Browne—”
“Marvin.”
She rolled her eyes, but conceded, “
Marvin.
To hear you give me edicts, one would think you were a grand duke, but the truth of the matter is, it’s not right for us to enter into the holy union of marriage just so that Mrs. Biggers’s nephew can move into the vicarage.”
“It’s also not right to hold onto the past once it is done and over.”
His voice had been soft—gentle, even—yet his words struck her with the force of a blow.
Samantha sat stunned.
“Is that what I’ve been doing?” she asked at last.
“I don’t know. Only you can answer that.”
She stared at him. Who was this man? He was no ordinary stranger who had just wandered into Sproule. But then, she had known that since the moment he’d asked for the keys to the Ayleborough vault.
“Who are you?” she asked once more.
“Marvin Browne,” he replied smoothly…almost too smoothly.
“I don’t believe you are good husband material,” she baited him, wanting to slip past his guard.
He grinned, his teeth white and even. “You’re right. I’m not. Nor will I change. I am a loner, Samantha. I need no one in my life.” He reached for her hand and took it in his own. “But I will take care of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you saved my life. The least I can do is protect your reputation. So, will you do me the honor of being my bride?” He paused before adding, “And the answer is yes.”
Samantha studied her hand so much smaller than his. She could feel his calluses, a sign he wasn’t afraid of hard work. She knew nothing about him. What she did know was a bit odd, such as his desire to visit the vault, his ravings about pirates, and his drinking.
And yet she trusted him.
“This is not the way it should be,” she said slowly.
“Is anything?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she said.
“No,” he answered.
“Then I guess my mind is made up for me. I will marry you, Mr. Browne.”
“Marvin.”
“Yes, Marvin.” She tried to smile, but her lower lip trembled. This was a big step and she was very much afraid.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You won’t be sorry. I will take care of you.”
Something in his promise reached deep down inside of Samantha to a place she hadn’t even known existed. She wanted to believe his promise. It made her feel good that he would be there beside her in marriage. For a moment, at the thought of it, she couldn’t even breathe.
A knock on the door brought her to her senses. She practically jumped out of the chair, pulling her hand from his.
With a guilty start, she turned to the door, but his hand recaptured hers. “We’ve done nothing wrong. Besides, we’re betrothed.”
She stared at him. He said that so easily, while her heart was beating as rapidly as if she’d run a great distance. She felt guilty for it and she didn’t know why…except that her feelings toward Mr. Browne—no, she corrected, toward Marvin—were not as clear as they had been. Something had just happened between them.
She didn’t know what, but she felt confused and a little giddy.
She didn’t think he felt the same way.
She hurried to the door. Mrs. Sadler and Mrs. Porter stood on the step. She invited them in.
“We have clothes,” Mrs. Sadler said. “They aren’t the finest, but they’ll do.”
Marvin took them from her. “Thank you.”
The innkeeper’s wife slid him a glance that said she still had her reservations about him.
Samantha stepped in. “It is very kind of Mr. Sadler to share his clothes with Marvin.”
“We will have a wedding breakfast after the ceremony,” Mrs. Porter volunteered. “Squire Biggers has promised the license will be here before the wedding.”
Samantha looked toward Marvin. His gaze met hers and she could see he hid a smile. She had to bow her head a moment. She knew enough about him now to know he probably had some dry, irreverent thought about the blustery squire.
“Also,” Mrs. Sadler said, “we’ve prepared a room for you, Miss Northrup, at the inn. It’s probably best we let Mr. Browne stay here the night before the wedding.”
“But I would rather stay here,” Samantha said.
Mrs. Porter stepped forward and put her hands on Samantha’s arms before giving her a little hug. “We know that, dear, but tomorrow, after the wedding, Vicar Newell is moving right in. He and his wife have been living with his
parents, and I understand his mother and his wife don’t get along. He can’t wait another day.”
“Oh,” Samantha said. She should have said more, something understanding or considerate—but all she could think was that she was losing the only home she’d ever known.
Marvin came to her rescue. “You’ll need to gather your things.”
“Yes, I will,” she said, thankful that he had presence of mind when she felt completely numb. “It will take me a moment.”
She walked from room to room, picking up the lace doilies her mother had tatted, the picture of the moors that hung on the parlor wall, the quilt on her parents’ bed, her brown dress, her nightdress, and the stockings and kid slippers she wore to church.
Marvin had taken the opportunity to put on the breeches, the shirt, and the socks. She was surprised to find him in the kitchen, making small talk with the women. She’d assumed he would ignore them. Mrs. Porter was warming to him, but Mrs. Sadler was still suspicious.
Samantha entered the kitchen and set the smaller things in the wooden box she’d kept in a corner to stand on when she needed extra height to reach something. She added the teapot and the remaining two teacups. “I think I have everything.”
“Let us help you carry them,” Mrs. Porter offered. She picked up the quilt.
“I would still rather stay here,” Samantha said.
The two women overrode her. “Come now. You’ll need time to prepare for the wedding,” Mrs. Sadler said.
Mrs. Porter linked her arm in Samantha’s. “We’ll help you. It will be so much fun.”
Before Samantha knew it, they had her out the door and on her way to the inn.
Yale watched the women tramp across the layer of snow until they disappeared behind the huge hemlock at the edge of the cemetery.
He shut the door and raked his hair back from his face. What a devil of twist this was!
For something to do, he sat at the kitchen table and polished his boots with a rag he’d found in a basin in the kitchen. The polish was in a drawer of the sideboard.
Married!
He’d never thought he’d marry. But he would go through with it. He owed her his life.
However, their marriage would be one of convenience. She was already too upset to talk about the marriage rationally. He’d wait until after the ceremony. Then he’d explain that he had no intention of being a true husband to her. He couldn’t. He had to return to Ceylon. But he would set her up in a house of her own wherever she wished. Of course, if he told her that now, she would refuse to go through with it, even if it meant being ostracized in this small village.
He wouldn’t let that happen to her.
For a second, he allowed himself to consider what it would be like to be married. He’d never considered the matrimonial state before. The restrictions had never appealed to him.
Still…in spite of her baggy crow-black dress, something about Samantha Northrup attracted him.
She wasn’t classically beautiful, but there was a freshness about her that he admired. Her willingness to forgive others was an interesting trait. How did a person become that good?
There was also the pull of something else between them, something Yale couldn’t quite identify. Something he’d never felt before.
Perhaps he empathized with her over the unjustness of the villagers’ treatment of her. He wondered if even one of them had stopped to think what would happen when she left tomorrow. Or did they think he would stay in Sproule?
The thought made him grin. If they believed that, then they were going to be sorely disappointed on the morrow.
Rising, he walked to the bedroom and set his boots on the floor. He stripped and climbed into bed. His strength still wasn’t what it should be.
However, tomorrow, he would do something right in his life.
For a second, the thought that he was marrying her under a false name tickled his conscience, but he shrugged it aside. No one knew who he
really was, and to explain would lead to complications he’d rather avoid.
Instead, he would marry the vicar’s daughter and leave. He’d see that she had a fine home filled with beautiful things. Then he would return to his business affairs.
After all, a man like him didn’t need anyone.
With that thought in mind, he slept soundly.
Samantha barely slept. She tossed and turned all night and didn’t close her eyes until shortly before dawn.
Four hours later, Mrs. Sadler and Mrs. Porter woke her.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Mrs. Porter chirped happily. “It’s your wedding day!”
Samantha buried her face in her pillow. “I don’t want to marry,” she mumbled.
Mrs. Sadler pulled her arm, half-dragging her from the bed. “Come now, no long face today, Miss Northrup. The decision has been made and the deed will soon be done. Your groom will be waiting for you in the church in less than two hours.”
Now they had Samantha’s full attention. She stumbled out of the bed. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, her first thought was, “My hair is a mess.”
“Close your eyes,” Mrs. Porter said.
“I just opened them when you woke me,” Samantha said.
“No, don’t close them completely,” Mrs. Por
ter said, as if Samantha was being silly. “We have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise—?”
Mrs. Porter covered Samantha’s eyes with her cold hands. Samantha could hear the movement of feet. The door opened and closed and then the hands were lifted.
Mrs. Sadler and her oldest daughter stood by the window holding what had to be the most beautiful dress Samantha had ever seen. It was white and made of material so fine it seemed to float. A deep hem of flowers of every color was embroidered on ribbon stitched around the bottom of the skirt and on the ribbon separating the high-waisted bodice.
Samantha reached out and ran her fingers over the embroidery. “I have never seen anything so beautiful,” she whispered.
“Well, try it on,” Mrs. Sadler ordered.
Samantha turned to her in surprise. “It’s for me?”
“It’s not for your bridegroom, I can tell you that,” Mrs. Sadler said. The women laughed.
Samantha pulled her hand back, suddenly shy.
“Oh please, Miss Northrup,” Mrs. Porter said. “You deserve a beautiful dress on your wedding day. Mrs. Biggers had the material, and Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie had the ribbon, and all of us got together last night and made this for you. It’s the latest fashion, even in London. See? Mrs. Biggers says they wear these little cap sleeves and this thin material even in the winter. Miss Mabel
and Miss Hattie had the idea of sewing on the flowers. We wanted to make it special for you. We’ve been up all night.”
Tears burned Samantha’s eyes. “You have. All of you,” she managed to say, and she hugged first Mrs. Porter, then Mrs. Sadler, and then her daughter Elmira.
“Careful now,” Mrs. Sadler said. “We don’t want to crush the material. It should fit. We tried it on Elmira. She’s just about your size.” Mrs. Sadler’s daughter blushed.
“It will be perfect,” Samantha declared. “I can’t tell you what this dress means to me.” She’d almost begun to believe none of them cared, yet look at what they’d done for her.
“Come, let us start getting you ready,” Mrs. Porter said.
For the next hour, Samantha was pampered in a way she’d never been treated before. It turned out that Mrs. Sadler had a talent for hairdressing.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” she told Samantha, before twisting Samantha’s hair up on top of her head. “Here, Elmira, hand me the pins.”
Samantha didn’t know what to think. She usually wore her hair braided or in a simple knot at the nape of her neck. This new style emphasized the line of her slender neck and gave her regal bearing. Of course, it took a lot of pins to hold her heavy hair in place.
“I should be so lucky to have so much hair,” said Mrs. Porter.
“Yes, but yours is blond, while mine is a plain brown,” Samantha averred.